The Wallet (a little long but worth the read)

As I walked home one freezing day, I stumbled on a
wallet someone had lost in the street. I picked it up
and looked inside to find some identification so I
could call the owner.

But the wallet contained only three dollars and a
crumpled letter that looked as if it had been in there
for years. The envelope as worn and the only thing
that was legible on it was the return address. I
started to open the letter, hoping to find some clue.
Then I saw the dateline--1924.

The letter had been written almost sixty years ago. It
was written in a beautiful feminine handwriting on
powder blue stationery with a little flower in the
left-hand corner. It was a "Dear John" letter that
told the recipient, whose name appeared to be Michael,
that the writer could not see him any more because her
mother forbade it. Even so, she wrote that she would
always love him. It was signed, Hannah.
It was a beautiful letter, but there was no way except
for the name Michael, that the owner could be
identified. Maybe if I called information, the
operator could find a phone listing for the address on
the envelope.
"Operator," I began, "this is an unusual request. I'm
trying to find the owner of a wallet that I found. Is
there anyway you can tell me if there is a phone
number for an address that was on an envelope in the
wallet?"

She suggested I speak with her supervisor, who
hesitated for a moment then said, "Well, there is a
phone listing at that address, but I can't give you
the number." She said, as a courtesy, she would call
that number, explain my story and would ask them if
they wanted her to connect me.

I waited a few minutes and then she was back on the
line.
"I have a party who will speak with you."
I asked the woman on the other end of the line if she
knew anyone by the name of Hannah.

She gasped, "Oh! We bought this house from a family
who had a daughter named Hannah. But that was 30 years ago!"
"Would you know where that family could be located
now?" I asked.

"I remember that Hannah had to place her mother in a
nursing home some years ago," the woman said.
"Maybe if you got in touch with them they might be
able to track down the daughter."

She gave me the name of the nursing home and I called
the number. They told me the old lady had passed away
some years ago but they did have a phone number for
where they thought the daughter might be living. I
thanked them and phoned.

The woman who answered explained that Hannah herself
was now living in a nursing home.

This whole thing was stupid, I thought to myself. Why
was I making such a big deal over finding the owner of
a wallet that had only three dollars and a letter that
was almost 60 years old?

Nevertheless, I called the nursing home in which
Hannah was supposed to be living and the man who
answered the phone told me, "Yes, Hannah is staying
with us."

Even though it was already 10pm, I asked if I could
come by to see her.

"Well," he said hesitatingly, "if you want to take a
chance, she might be in the day room watching
television."

I thanked him and drove over to the nursing home.

The night nurse and a guard greeted me at the door. We
went up to the third floor of the large building. In
the day room, the nurse introduced me to Hannah.

She was a sweet, silver-haired old timer with a warm
smile and a twinkle in her eye. I told her about
finding the wallet and showed her the letter.

The second she saw the powder blue envelope with that
little flower on the left, she took a deep breath and
said, "Young man, this letter was the last contact I
ever had with Michael." She looked away for a moment
deep in thought and then said softly, "I loved him
very much. But I was only 16 at the time and my mother
felt I was too young. Oh, he was so handsome. He
looked like Sean Connery, the actor."

"Yes," she continued. "Michael Goldstein was a
wonderful person. If you should find him, tell him I
think of him often. And," she hesitated for a moment,
almost biting her lip, "tell him I still love him. You
know," she said smiling as tears began to well up in
her eyes, "I never did marry. I guess no one ever
matched up to Michael..."

I thanked Hannah and said goodbye. I took the elevator
to the first floor and as I stood by the door, the
guard there asked, "Was the old lady able to help
you?"
I told him she had given me a lead. "At least I have a
last name. But I think I'll let it go for a while.
I spent almost the whole day trying to find the owner
of this wallet."

I had taken out the wallet, which was a simple brown
leather case with red lacing on the side.

When the guard saw it, he said, "Hey, wait a minute!
That's Mr. Goldstein's wallet. I'd know it anywhere
with that bright red lacing. He's always losing that
wallet. I must have found it in the halls at least
three times."
"Who's Mr. Goldstein?" I asked as my hand began to
shake.
"He's one of the old timers on the 8th floor. That's
Mike Goldstein's wallet for sure. He must have lost it
on one of his walks."

I thanked the guard and quickly ran back to the
nurse's office. I told her what the guard had said. We
went back to the elevator and got on. I prayed that
Mr. Goldstein would be up.
On the eighth floor, the floor nurse said, "I think
he's still in the day room. He likes to read at night.
He's a darling old man."

We went to the only room that had any lights on and
there was a man reading a book. The nurse went over to
him and asked if he had lost his wallet.

Mr. Goldstein looked up with surprise, put his hand in
his back pocket and said, "Oh, it is missing!"

This kind gentleman found a wallet and we wondered if
it could be yours?"

I handed Mr. Goldstein the wallet and the second he
saw it, he smiled with relief and said, "Yes, that's
it! It must have dropped out of my pocket this
afternoon. I want to give you a reward."
"No, thank you," I said. "But I have to tell you
something.
I read the letter in the hope of finding out who owned
the wallet."

The smile on his face suddenly disappeared. "You read
that letter?"
"Not only did I read it, I think I know where Hannah
is."

He suddenly grew pale. "Hannah? You know where she ?
How is she? Is she still as pretty as she was? Please, please tell
me," he begged.

"She's fine...just as pretty as when you knew her." I
said softly.

The old man smiled with anticipation and asked, "Could
you tell me where she is? I want to call her
tomorrow." He grabbed my hand and said,"You know
something, mister, I was so in love with that girl
that when that letter came, my life literally ended. I
never married. I guess I've always loved her."

"Mr. Goldstein," I said, "Come with me."

We took the elevator down to the third floor. The
hallways were darkened and only one or two little
night-lights lit our way to the day room where Hannah
was sitting alone watching the television.

The nurse walked over to her. "Hannah," she said
softly, pointing to Michael, who was waiting with me
in the doorway. "Do you know this man?"

She adjusted her glasses, looked for a moment, but
didn't say a word.
Michael said softly, almost in a whisper, "Hannah,
it's Michael. Do you remember me?"
She gasped, "Michael! I don't believe it! Michael!
It's you! My Michael!"

He walked slowly towards her and they embraced.

The nurse and I left with tears streaming down our
faces.

"See," I said. "See how the Good Lord works! If it's
meant to be, it will be."
About three weeks later I got a call at my office from
the nursing home. "Can you break away on Sunday to
attend a wedding? Michael and Hannah are going to tie
the knot!"

It was a beautiful wedding with all the people at the
nursing home dressed up to join in the celebration.
Hannah wore a light beige dress and looked beautiful.
Michael wore a dark blue suit and stood tall. They
made me their best man.
The hospital gave them their own room and if you ever
wanted to see a 76-year-old bride and a 79-year-old
groom acting like two teenagers, you had to see this
couple.
A perfect ending for. a love affair that had lasted
nearly 60 years.